


Good Intentions

by m0usielous1e



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m0usielous1e/pseuds/m0usielous1e
Summary: The second time Negan takes Daryl, he tries to break his body as well as his mind. In his quest to help Daryl heal, Paul does not quite think things through.





	Good Intentions

Two miles out from DC, Paul’s borrowed ride finally died. Gas had been going bad and hard to find for weeks now—their switch to horses, or if they were lucky, electric cars that Alexandria’s precious solar panels could recharge, was looking sooner rather than later—and this vehicle had been junk before the world went to shit. Paul had been coaxing it gently for more than three miles though, so he knew that it was only a matter of time. When it finally rolled to a stop, he gently rested his forehead against the steering while and sighed.

Summer had died reluctantly, but fall had not lingered. It felt as if, between one evening and the next, the brilliant yellows, golds, and reds had been blown away and replaced by the stark browns and hardy greens of winter and a persistent mist that would make his trek to the city more dangerous than his departure a few years earlier. Or maybe Paul had just been too caught up worrying about Daryl to care. The world lost all meaning when the love of one’s life threatened to leave it.

The last time that Paul had been this tired, filthy and desperate, he had been on the road from DC with an ex-boyfriend who was soon to die from his wounds, and an older black couple he had never spoken to before the Turn but had been neighbours with for over two years. His muscles were sore, burning with each move, his hair was a greasy mess he had tied into a knot at the top of his head and he hadn’t eaten in two days. This time too, the city was eerily silent. The power to the emergency systems must have finally gone out, though it was more likely that anyone left alive knew better than to make a sound. Paul hoped that he would run into no one, though even in this world it was not likely.

At least he hoped that his heavy old raincoat—found at some politician’s estate near the capital, and covered in the unlucky bastard’s entrails to ward off other walkers—would deter approach. But he needed a car, well, food too, and water, if he was going to get out of DC and back to Daryl in time. Daryl who had ignored his parting. Surely one of the others had noticed by now that Paul was a little late getting back. It was kind of odd to start thinking again that if he died, no one would ever know.

Negan had taken Daryl again, of course, just three days before Rick and their allies made their final push on the Sanctuary. For as long as he lived, Paul would never forget the blank stare that Daryl had given him, willing him to remain hidden, before the Saviours led the bowman away. There was history there, bad things that Paul and the other boys had only spoken of in whispers with each other late at night in the home. Daryl had never explained the scars, and Paul had not asked, but he could guess. That Daryl still had that look down broke Paul’s heart just a little.

The attack on the Sanctuary had mostly gone without a hitch. Rick had called out Negan with two warning shots, Negan had emerged and given his usual speech, and Rick had refused to comply and signalled for the walkers. Chaos ensued, people died, and then Simon dragged Daryl out of his cell as if he were nothing more than a sack of blood and bones.

Later, after the red haze had cleared from Paul’s vision and he could reason like a normal human being again, he learned the terrible truth. When he realised that he could not break Daryl’s mind to get him to comply, Negan had decided to break his body. Ribs, his nose, an arm, and a leg in two places that was not going to heal right and leave him dependent on a cane for the rest of his life. Dr Carson had been forced to perform major surgery on some of his internal organs, right there in the Sanctuary, or Daryl might have died from the rupture to his spleen.

Paul had not slept easy for a week until Daryl was out of danger. Then Daryl had woken up, and in a move they should have expected but still took them by surprise, set about trying to get everyone to hate him so much they would abandon him in a field somewhere. Paul had been too tired for empathy, though he had tried for a day, and then he exploded.

Nasty things were said, though mostly by Daryl, and Paul had stormed out of the Sanctuary in such a fury that no one had dared approach or even look at him until they were back at the Hilltop. 

“Your world is going to get a whole lot bigger,” someone had said to Paul once, many years earlier, when he first arrived in DC. He had just gotten out of the group home, had nowhere to live and just enough money to get a shitty apartment in the worst part of town, but none of that mattered. Paul had been through a lot by his eighteenth birthday, true, and yet that had been a universe of its own, cocooning him against the world he had just stepped into.

Walking into DC now, Paul briefly wondered if that other person had made it, then if that dingy little store with unbelievably intact windows was going to be comfortable for the night. The city was freezing. Without all the cars and living bodies to get in the way, winter had set in with a vengeance. Frost glinted on every window, the wind cut through the inadequate protection of his raincoat as if it wasn’t there, and the road was an icy mess, each step threatening a neck-breaking fall. Paul curled into himself, bracing against the wind and trudged over to the store.

Of course, the door was locked. He kicked it once, twice, and it did not budge. Nor was there sound of movement from within. For a moment, he contemplated his lock-picking skills with frozen fingers, and then he walked around the side of the building to look for a separate entrance.

There was a back window, and movement here, but no more than two bodies. The backdoor was heavily barred, but after a few breaths over his hands, Paul managed to warm his fingers enough to manage the lock. The walkers waiting for him on the other side were an old man and a little girl. He took care of the girl first, then the old man and sank to the ground between them to close their eyes. They had died a long time ago, but trapped in the store with no way out, did not look as weathered as they should. And the little girl had died first, if the bite marks on the old man’s arm was any indication, and he had not put her down after which suggested he either was not in too good a shape to begin with or did not have the heart to do it. Paul sat thinking about that for longer than he should.

Paul thought he fell in love with the Alexandrian bowman, not at their contentious first meeting, or reunion after the murder of his friends, but on a quiet afternoon in the middle of the war. It was not through some quiet gesture on Daryl’s part, or clandestine courting on Paul’s, but through Rick Grimes’ little girl.

Judith had been away from her parents for more than a week and was raising hell for it. She had thrown her food back at Maggie at lunch, had a tantrum with Enid at bath time and had been crying for two hours straight when Daryl walked in, picked her up and carried her out to the stables. She quieted for a bit, possibly thinking that he was going to take her home, but when he merely kept walking, taking her on an impromptu tour, she started wailing again.

And that was when he started to sing.

Oh, he had pre-empted it with a warning “My voice isn’t the best and I don’t know none of them good nursery rhymes”, and he wasn’t lying, but it was not the worst thing Paul had ever heard either. Paul, who had been running about the Hilltop on various errands all day, actually stopped in the middle of the yard to listen to Daryl sing one of Rick’s favourite songs to the little girl. Later, Paul would remember this moment as the last time he saw Daryl smile, when Judith stopped crying and, with some prompting, tried to sing with him, but it was a good memory all the same. The sun was sinking into the horizon like liquid gold being poured into a mould, the wind toyed with the little curls of the girl’s hair and blew Daryl’s into his face as usual, but he shook his head to clear it, swung her up into the air for a happy squeal, and kept right on singing. Paul wished he had a camera to capture the sight, but his memory was good enough. There was so much love in that moment, especially from a man who had been through so much and was to go through more, that Paul thought his heart was fit to burst for it. It had spurred Paul all the way from the Hilltop to DC, and was warming him now.

It was hard to drag the little girl and the old man out back, but Paul could not sleep with the bodies. He reasoned that it did not matter anymore anyway, at least not to them, and went back in to check out the store they had holed up in. He nearly fainted with shock when he realised what it was. Of all things, the first thing he had found was a medical supply store.

The chair in the corner he had mistaken for an armchair was a wheelchair with a few blankets piled onto it. There was a little pink inhaler nearby, which explained the child again, and wasn’t that a heart-breaking thought, and an epi-pen. This room was a consulting office, given the charts on the walls, and in the next, Paul found the motherlode of medical supplies. More chairs, but also beds, stretchers, canes, oxygen canisters, so much tubing, braces, bandages and so many needles. Paul stopped in the doorway just looking at it, then he sniffled, that became a sob and the next thing he knew he was crying.

Paul liked to consider himself someone who thought things through. There were consequences for ignoring that in this life, deadly ones, and he was glad it was a habit his caretakers at the home had tried to instil in him and the other boys. When it came to Daryl though, Paul had firmly put the cart before the horse. It was one thing to fall in love with a man you considered a friend and was growing closer to by the day, it was another thing entirely to tell that man that you liked him.

Time was an abstract construct in the world they lived in. Some days went by in a blink, the day-to-day activity necessary to maintaining their small community after the end of the world meant that you could go for days without realising that you hadn’t had more than four hours of sleep, tops. Other days went by slow, like waiting for Maggie to wake up after the murder of her husband, waiting for Negan to show up to exact vengeance, or worst of all, waiting for Daryl to return after a hunt when he should have two hours ago and now the sun had set and he had only his bow and tracking skills to keep him alive. Paul had grown to hate those days the most, and especially after his epiphany.

Things had not changed between them much. Daryl was oblivious, thankfully, but he was also always there. In the mornings, when Paul awoke just before sunrise, it was to find Daryl out on the grounds making new arrows, or hear the steady beat of an axe as he helped prep firewood, or to the smell of coffee or eggs or pancakes in the kitchen. The last had been after Paul had complained the night before of missing elaborate breakfasts, and he and Maggie had spent hours reminiscing. Lunch time was hit or a miss, but in the evenings they would sit together, Maggie would offer a prayer and they would try to get Daryl involved in a conversation about their day. He usually abstained, unless it involved Rick and the others, or Judith, or Maggie’s pregnancy, but Paul found himself craving those little contributions like he needed air.

Daryl brought the whole community food, more meat than they had managed in years, and soon there would be jokes about him fattening them up too much to fight off Negan. His ears always blazed scarlet and he would flee, if he could, or look away, if he couldn’t. He was always on hand to help someone and never complained, even if he surely had something better to do. Sometimes, Paul would stop in the middle of the community and just stare at Daryl in wonder, not quite believing that it had taken the end of the world for him to find this man.

It was never formally discussed, Paul and Daryl working together, though it was inevitable. Their abilities made them both perfectly suited to carrying out the most dangerous missions, quickly and quietly, and if Paul used it to get to know Daryl better, who could blame him? But Daryl was watching him too, Paul figured that out after running into the other man one time too many after he went out to practice his martial arts for exercise. It was less cute when he turned around after tripping over his own feet to find Daryl silently staring at him though.

And then there was that day. 

It hot as hell, sunny and bright. Birdsong had woken them, and after a plain breakfast of oatmeal porridge, Maggie had started talking about watering holes near her family farm. That got Daryl talking about the day they met Paul, with some playful glares thrown in for good measure, and then Enid said, “Hey, maybe we could go swimming.”  
It was not the best idea. Walkers might not be able to swim, but they floated really well and weren’t something you wanted to run into, ever. But it was hot. And things had been quiet from Negan for a while so why couldn’t they, just this once, for a few hours, go swimming?

Getting back to the field was no trouble. Daryl and Maggie joked around a bit about trying to retrieve some of the items from the truck…well, if the doors hadn’t opened and spilled it all. Paul had prepared himself to sit this one out, but then Daryl had given a whoop, pulled off his shirt, kicked off his boots and raced for the water, Enid hot on his heels. Paul had watched them go, gaze locked on the scarring on the other man’s muscled back, then the breadth of his shoulders, and the dip of his hips, until Maggie said, “I’d tell you take a picture if you wanted it to last longer, but you’d just lie that you were really watching out for Enid and I would have to hit you, so I won’t.”

Paul glanced at Maggie’s smug look, then back at Daryl now diving into the water as if he were part fish and returning home, and said, “I would not have lied.”

Maggie’s grin widened, and she said, “Now that is a lie.”

Paul lifted his chin in the air and said, “Why, Mrs Rhee, that you would suggest that I, a young, hot-blooded man who is hardly in want of partners if need be, though there has been a noticeable drought in recent months, was staring at Mr Dixon like a dog in heat…I would say that yes, yes I was. I can’t help it. I didn’t think rugged redneck was my type but is it ever. Goodness, do you think he knows?”

Maggie clapped him on the back and said, “Well…maybe. Daryl ain’t blind or stupid but he can be oblivious about certain things, especially when they concern him. Just…try not to break his heart, okay? I love you, but I will run over your trailer with that tractor.”

Paul’s face warmed and reddened and he struggled to sputter out, “You’re getting way ahead of yourself. We barely know each other.”

“You’ve known each other for longer than I knew Glenn before we had sex in that pharmacy,” said Maggie. 

Paul turned to look at her and she grinned and said, “What? I knew what I wanted and I went for it. What the hell do you have to lose?”

It was one thing to find a store stocked of just what you needed in the first place you went looking, it was another thing entirely to cart this stuff out with no car. Paul would have to go further into the city and find one that worked…somehow. _This was exactly why humanity should have switched to alternative fuel use a long time ago_ , one ex used to argue when he was three beers in and therefore too far gone to notice that Paul did not really care. _We need to make better use of our environment so that if something goes wrong, we don’t end up in the Dark Ages. How stupid is it that civilisations so advanced can be destroyed just like that?_

Paul, who had been working at a local museum then, nothing too major, especially without a university degree to back it up, thought about telling his ex about all those old civilisations that should not have failed and did because humans are not infallible but didn’t. He liked to think that he would have told Daryl though, just to hear what the redneck would think of that. Daryl was not ignorant, just quiet, and sometimes the things he said after careful consideration, would leave Paul speechless…and all the hotter for him.

There was a vending machine in the outer room of the store. Most of the stuff had gone bad, or had been consumed by the old man and the kid before they died, but there were one or two things that Paul was just hungry enough to try. He broke the glass, carefully, and had a sweet meal that he immediately regretted, but was glad for. There were no usable vehicles that he could see out the storefront, but Paul had not expected any, so he decided he would go searching the next day and went back to the office, made a nest in the corner with both exits in sight, blocked the door and went to sleep.

It figured that the first time Paul dreamed of Daryl, it would be while they were miles apart and completely unaware of the other’s wellbeing. He and Daryl were riding electric motorbikes among the redwoods of California, the wind whistling past carrying the fragrance of the ancient, mighty forest and birdsong repeating Rick’s favourite song. Daryl was leading, telling Paul this story about a young warrior leading another from a rival tribe on a wild goose chase, while sizing him up because he had never actually met their enemy before. Then the scene changed and suddenly they were standing in the Sanctuary, but instead of Daryl groaning in pain, badly hurt but alive, he surged up from the ground as a walker and lunged for Paul.

Paul woke with a start and started coughing. It took him a while, and more than a few gulps of precious water, to get him stop. He did not feel any different but he was surely coming down with something. If he did not get back to the others before it hit, he would never. Shit.

The DC streets were nowhere near deserted when Paul finally decided to head out in search of a truck, or maybe a mid-size electric car. He really should have hitched one of the horses to a wagon. In the distance, he could just see the Capitol Building but he could smell the Potomac in the air. It was amazing what one could sense now, with the world so empty.

The home and his schools had often taken them on trips through the city while he was growing up. He had also seen it destroyed hundreds of times in almost the exact same way in movies as a teen. More than once he had wished for it. Burn the whole thing down and start over. No more group homes for boys whose only trouble in life was that they had lost their families and struggled to exist with those who hadn’t. No more name-calling and threats and actual violence because he happened to be gay. No more worrying about money until some days you considered prostitution because you needed food and clothes to survive and you did not have to care about who your partner was. It was a shitty life, and though things had improved, it was far from whatever perfect thing he was pretty sure some had envisioned. What kind of hardship did a guy who looked like Paul ever really have anyway?

He could feel his body weakening, and fast, the further he walked in the cold. The little girl was frozen over and, well, Paul was not that desperate so he had used the old man to replenish his bloody shield. The chilly air was undoing that, but thankfully it was also slowing the walkers so bad, some of them were frozen to the sidewalk. Paul watched them as he walked, some of them in suits that cost more than Paul could have ever dreamed of earning, or wearing jewellery that was little more than shiny junk now, and was surprised to feel a little sad. In life, he might have hated them, but no one really deserved this.

If Daryl died, a terribly, frightening possibility every damn day, someone in his family would take care of it. Though most of Daryl’s life to this point had been undeniably awful, as Paul assumed, his end would probably come surrounded by loved ones. Daryl had not come away from his experience angry at the world and uncaring. He was tough, yeah, and looked like he could beat a man to death for looking at him funny, but he was also tender-hearted. Maybe it was because Daryl had still had family members who had loved him in their own messed up way, while Paul didn’t. Or maybe because it was simply in Daryl’s nature to be kind, while Paul’s was…not quite where it should be. Before their fateful meeting in a field, Paul was sure that he would have died out on a run and no one at the Hilltop would have noticed or cared. Now, well, Maggie would miss him, for sure, Enid too, and maybe Rick and the others, but Daryl?

The first pickup he found was appropriately-sized but dead. The second had a mostly-full tank, and belongings stacked up in the back, but a walker in the front seat and was also dead. Paul marked it as a potential, and thought about the battery he had left two miles out. Time and the cold had done as expected and killed them all. His only option was looking increasingly like stack what he could on his back and walk. It would take a few weeks to get back, but what other choice did he have?

The sky had been cloudy all morning, but just then the wind picked up a little and sunlight burst through. Paul looked up, squinting at the clear blue sky high above the clouds, and then down. A horse was staring back at him.

Daryl had told him once, shortly after they started living together at the Hilltop, of his group’s terrible luck with horses, and animals in general. No matter what they did, they never were able to hold on to the one’s they found. Almost all domesticated animals now were half-wild. It would be dangerous to try to harness a horse in the first place, and even more difficult to get it to carry a load. But Daryl needed things, proof even that life was worth living again, and Paul was not going to let anything get in the way of that.

The day that Daryl had been taken had been another one of the rare moments where things were quiet enough that they could risk a trip out. Daryl wanted to check his traps, and Paul wanted the bowman to teach him to shoot. It was a ruse, of course, and an obvious one from the looks Maggie and Enid gave him, but Daryl seemed none the wiser and so out they went. 

Paul had not planned on making a move, not exactly. Maggie seemed confident that Daryl was not straight, though Paul much preferred finding that one out himself, and encouraged Paul to give it a try. She had even suggested the archery lessons, though Paul had told them all before that he had learned how at the Kingdom, and preferred a sword anyway, but Daryl had agreed. And so there they were, walking through the trees with the latest catch secured in a bag that Paul carried, while Daryl looked for a space for them to practice on the crossbow.

The longer they walked, the more nervous Paul felt. His palms were sweaty, his heartbeat kept tripping up every time Daryl looked at him, and he could not shut his stupid mouth for five seconds to take a breath or let the other man get a word in. Babbling was a problem he thought he had let go of years ago, but this was Daryl and Daryl was important so Paul was a wreck.

The clearing was small, but Daryl had thought the sights were good. The world had never felt quite so big until it ended for human civilisation, and no more than in that moment in the clearing. It was as if the world had emptied completely and it was just Daryl and Paul, the wind through the trees and tall grasses, birdsong and the low buzzing of insects calling mates in the lazy summer heat. Despite everything, Paul did not want to speak and Daryl did not seem to mind. Paul was quite content to stay there forever, or maybe until sunset, if Daryl would stand with him.

And then a target appeared, a tall buck, broad and bold. Daryl looked at it for a moment, then held out his bow to Paul. Paul stared at the bow, then up at him. Daryl lifted an eyebrow and Paul took it, and immediately hoped that the bowman did not notice the reverence. He set the bag with their catch down, set the bow up on his arm and watched through the sight. Daryl did not touch him, but because Paul was looking, noticed the disapproving look until he adjusted his stance and hold. They had to be quiet, after all, and if Daryl had put his hands on him, there was nothing that would stop Paul from yelping.

The buck strode across the clearing at leisure, ears and nose twitching, apparently unconcerned for the two men standing there. It was rather odd for a creature that would feed a small herd of walkers, but what did Paul know about wild animals? Daryl drifted closer and Paul’s heartbeat picked up. Still, he breathed through his mouth, willing himself to stay calm, and when the buck was close enough, fired.

He missed. The bolt soared just over the buck’s flank and it skipped away, startled. 

“Damn it!” Paul cursed, then rushed over to retrieve the bolt without thinking.

He should have thought about it. Daryl had not followed him, probably still tracking the buck, and when Paul retrieved the bolt, he thought he saw their prey just between the trees. He should have stayed put. He went running into the trees anyway and had merely gone a few feet in when he heard the voices. He turned around at once, determined to help, and was met by Daryl’s blank stare.

Paul wound up following the horse for more than ten blocks before he realised that his body was not going to help him catch it. He had to, but he still needed food, water, medicine and rest. Also, a plan, and maybe some rope. He was also drawing the attention of the walkers.

The store was as he left it. Another sweet meal, probably lunch, and he decided to rest his eyes for a few hours. He blinked awake to pitch darkness and difficulty breathing. His bones and head ached, he was sweating profusely, and his nose and throat were sore. If this was an ordinary cold, maybe he could tough it out, but Paul was already weak and malnourished. He was going to leave the next day, whether he caught the horse or not.

The night dragged on. Paul stripped and redressed multiple times, trying to cool down. He did not want to eat but willed himself to have a single candy bar if only for the energy. Eventually he found his way to another office stacked with files and, in one drawer, a forgotten mystery novel. The author was not one of his favourites, but who could afford to be picky in this world? He fell asleep on File C from the consulting office reading about Connor, Jean’s suspicious fractures.

A steady thumping woke him with a start the next morning, and Paul jerked awake to see a walker at the window. Paul watched it for a moment, realised he was shivering, and groaned, then forced himself to his feet. Time to get that horse.

His will was stronger than his flesh. He had to stop for a rest every few minutes as he packed a small bag, first with the object of his search, a cane—and wasn’t that silly when Earl could have made one?—and other small but useful supplies. The pack felt like it weighed a tonne when he was finished, but Paul was going to carry it home. This was not going to be for nothing.

The horse was back. It was curious, or so Paul hoped, and maybe willing to help. Paul’s throat felt too terrible for him to attempt talking, so he focused his energy on approach. This horse had had a rider once. It was wary at the sight of him, but was intelligent enough to know, perhaps, that Paul was not going to try to eat him. Paul kept his hands up and his head low, trying to meet the horse’s eyes so that it could see he meant no harm. It shifted back and forth, stamped its foot, snorted. Paul suspected it was hungry. He only had candy for himself, but he had found an expired energy bar that he hoped it might want.

He stopped in the middle of the street, pulled out the energy bar, unwrapped it and held it high. The horse looked at him, intrigued and took a step closer. 

Paul looked about for the walkers, saw none close enough to worry about, and waved the bar a little, stepping in again. His smile worked well on people, but the horse did not look impressed. 

“Come on boy, come on. I need your help. Daryl needs your help. Come and get this oat goodness.”

The horse took another step, and another. Paul kept moving in until he could just reach out and touch the horse’s nose, patted it a few times, and then offered the energy bar. It sniffed it a few times, took a lick, and then swiped it out of his hand. Paul smiled and patted the horse again, this time high on its back and said, “I’m sorry, but that was not for free. Are you going to let me get up on your back?”

The horse was tall and Paul was not and it had no saddle but he got a handful of mane and a firm grasp on the withers, pushed off his left foot and swung up onto its back, belly first. The horse started, but Paul wrapped his arms around its neck, whispering gentle entreaties, and sat up. The whole effort winded him, and the horse shifted about a bit as Paul tried to catch his breath, but he had a ride home.

The walkers were closer now. Paul took out another energy bar, held it closer to the horse’s nose and said, “If you get us home, there’s plenty more where this came from.”  
He allowed it to have another lick, and a small piece before wrapping up and putting it back in his pocket. The horse snorted, displeased, but Paul ignored it, patted gently alongside its neck, and with two swift kicks to its side, set them on their way.

The ride back was slow and miserable. When he had first set out, Paul had been forced to take a long route to avoid some herds—and his friends, if he was being honest—but now he could not take the risk. The longer they rode, the worst Paul felt. He was burning up under his layers but he knew it was too cold to take them off. The chilly air helpfully cooled his face, but his body was on fire. The bareback ride was not helping his aches. Paul prayed only rarely, and less so now that the world had fallen apart, but he did now.

He started fading one mile out from the Hilltop. The weight of the pack was too much, and he was having serious trouble breathing again. He willed himself to stay awake, if only because the horse had no idea where he was going, but Paul knew he was losing the fight. It was nothing short of pure luck that had kept them away from the walkers, or maybe they had cleared the neighbourhood in the war effort, but it would not hold if he lost consciousness. Paul held tightly to the horse and whispered to it, “Please, I know you’re tired, but we can make this.”

When the Hilltop walls finally came into view, Paul was very tempted to drop right there. But there was no guarantee that anyone had seen him, or that they would come out to help if they did not recognise him. The horse might just take off too, and wouldn’t that just be the perfect end to this nightmare, to die mere metres from safety? And then someone called, _“Hey! Who goes there?”_

Paul lifted his head, then pushed the hood of his raincoat down. His vision blurred. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but no sound came out and the cold air made him cough. And when he started coughing he could not stop. The horse started, and Paul lost his grip. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

In the darkness, voices.

_“Oh my god, Paul!”_

_“Is that Jesus? Where the hell did he come from? Is he hurt?”_

_“He’s burning up.”_

_“Is he bit?”_

There was silence for a time, but his body still hurt and Paul just wanted that to stop. And then they started talking around him again.

_“He was well on his way to pneumonia. He’s damn lucky he made it back here.”_

_“Not that we’re not grateful for the stuff he brought back, but when he wakes up he needs to tell me what the hell he was thinking. We don’t just run off here without telling people where we’re going. We can’t take that chance, not anymore. What if he’d died? We would have never found him.”_

_“You know what he was thinking. You were there. He must have thought it would help.”_

_“Yeah, I don’t think Daryl would have appreciated him getting himself killed.”_

Darkness fell again and Paul dreamed of Daryl. This time they were at a bar where Paul had tended for a few years before the end. Daryl was seated on the other side of the bar, dressed as he had been the day they first met, and when Paul turned his way, he lifted his glass and said, “Best not make promises you can’t keep neither.”

“Best not try anything,” said Paul, and then he coughed and opened his eyes.

He was not hurting anymore. That was the first thing he noticed. The next was that he was on a soft bed in a bright room. He blinked a few times at the ceiling, then his gaze snapped to the man sitting in the chair near his bed. Daryl stared back, and he did not look happy.

“Hi,” said Paul, and coughed. 

Daryl grasped hold of the night-table and pulled his chair closer to the bed, then held out a glass of water. Paul reached for it eagerly, but his body did not respond so Daryl had to lift his head to help him drink. That was when Paul realised how weak he really was. He drained the glass and Daryl laid him back down, and sat back.

Paul smiled weakly at him and Daryl scowled. Paul’s heart skipped a beat. That scowl was the hottest thing he had ever seen and his libido really needed to quit, he was not well and Daryl was mad at him. Then Daryl said, “What the hell, man, you tried to kill yourself for a damn cane?”

Paul was too tired to feel ashamed. And honestly, at this point he no longer cared. He said, “No, I went there to find something help you with that leg.”

Daryl was not impressed. He said, “Earl could have made me a cane. Someone could have found one. This was the dumbest damn thing I’ve ever seen you do, and you ain’t stupid.”

Paul wanted to say he was not sorry, but Daryl’s eyes were sad. He said instead, “I…I know it was dumb. But you were…you were upset and I wanted to help and I…I want to say that I was too tired to think clearly, but that would be an excuse. I don’t want you to give up, Daryl. You made it this far, too far to do that now.”

Daryl’s scowl fell away, expression softening, and he said, “I wasn’t going to give up. I…I know that I’m not that good with expressing myself but I just wanted you all to leave me alone to deal with it. It was wrong, and I’m sorry, but before I could get around to telling anyone that I hear from Enid that you just took off. What the hell, Paul?”

Paul had no answer, so he said nothing. Then Daryl slipped his hand other his head again, and before Paul had time to protest, leaned over to press their foreheads together. 

Paul’s breath hitched and his heart started racing. If anything else happened he would probably die, but he was ready to go. For a moment he thought Daryl was going to kiss him and it was nirvana. If this was meant to be his end, so be it.

Daryl, not as enthusiastic for Paul’s demise, merely lifted his head away after a time of shared breaths and heavy silence, and said, “Please don’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” said Paul, and could have smacked himself. Daryl was not the boss of him and he had no right to elicit any kind of promises.

Daryl smiled, a small, brief thing, and said, “At least take someone with you next time. I know you’re sick now, so you’re not thinking right, but I don’t want you to die.”

Paul nodded and said, “I’m sorry…for what happened. I shouldn’t have run off and left you without a weapon.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed in confusion for a beat, and then he asked, “So, they would take the both of us? They’d been watching us but when you took off and they came out, I knew that you had a head-start. They might have caught me, but I knew they weren’t going to take you.”

“I could have helped,” said Paul.

Daryl nodded but said nothing. Paul decided that that meant Daryl agreed, and settled back on the bed. There was a long silence where Paul considered asking Daryl if he was going to kiss him, and instead he asked, “On a scale of one to Rick Grimes when he found out about Carl trying to sneak into the Sanctuary, how mad is Maggie?”

Daryl snorted at that, a wonderful sound that Paul hoped to hear in his dreams forever, and said, “Well, you weren’t there, so you don’t know this, but there was this place, Terminus, that tricked us, tried to eat us, whole bunch of cannibals.”

Paul blinked up at him, eyes wide, but Daryl continued, “Anyway, if you thought Rick was mad about Carl and the Sanctuary, you should have seen him at Terminus. He wanted to kill every one of them, and we did, in the end, with some walker help. That’s still nowhere close to how mad Maggie is at you though. She nearly smothered you when she found out you hadn’t been bit but just caught a bad flu from not having the correct gear out there. Just a head’s up. I’m still thinking about letting her, actually.”

Paul had no shame. He immediately gave Daryl his best puppy dog look. Daryl laughed out loud at that, and said, “Save it for her. I’m already glad you’re not dead. But you should probably get some more rest before she comes in.”

Feeling bold, when he knew he should not be, Paul said, “Can I at least get a kiss first? A...a real one.”

Daryl stopped laughing and just stared down at him. Paul felt his face warm, but he had already said the words so he waited for Daryl’s response. And then there was Daryl’s hand on the back of his neck again, and he leaned forward, and kissed him on the forehead.

He did not pull away immediately, so that Paul breathed in the scent of him, alive and healing, and said, “That was not what I had in mind.”

Daryl sat back and said, “Yeah, you need to rest. You still have a fever.”

Paul blinked and asked, “Did you…did you just do that to check my temperature?”

Daryl replied, “Get some rest…and we’ll talk again when you’re better.” He met and held Paul’s gaze for long enough that he knew he was serious, that he understood and that he was not upset.

Paul took a breath, opened his mouth, closed it, took another breath and said, “This is not how I thought this was going to go.”

“Go to sleep,” said Daryl, smiling.


End file.
